


superman's got nothing on me

by earnmysong



Series: love and understanding, positivity (change this whole world) [the next-gen avengers] [2]
Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Baby Fic, F/M, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-10 00:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15279891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earnmysong/pseuds/earnmysong
Summary: Part I:“Halley, sweetheart, you’ve got to go to sleep. I mean, honestly, Nutter Butter, coffee can only do so much for Mommy.”/ Hope tackles being a different kind of superhero.Part II:Can I ask something?” Eyes focus next, fixing on her. [Hope] nods in encouragement, expecting the request for water that normally completes their routine. “Why are you wearing a costume if it’s not Halloween?”/ Hope learns from her past, but gets a little more than she bargained for in the process.Part III:“Ready, Nutter Butter?” The trembling chin and wide eyes with which [Hope]'s confronted vehemently protest the impending extraction. “You’ll be okay. I promise.”/ Hope handles the fallout of a non-catastrophic emergency in a very inventive manner.[Future-fic that takes place several years afterallevents inAnt-Man and The Wasp. All creative choices included here are solely my own, from the name selections for original characters to the dialogue to the plot directions. Also, this work should be subtitled:Stress makes Mom!Hope use nicknames.]





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [irishmizzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishmizzy/gifts).



> I came out of _Ant-Man and The Wasp_ with a lot of feelings, largely about family, mothers and daughters, fathers and daughters, and all that. This fic stems from my need to channel my exploding heart into a project. Additionally, I kept coming back to the fact that terms of endearment that are rooted in snack foods seem to be a given for both the Van Dynes and the Langs, and how that might extend to any new additions to the party! 
> 
> Apparently, I turn thirty and write baby fic? This was originally going to be a 'five times' deal, and it could very well still be. Let's think of it as complete and be pleasantly surprised when I write more, though, okay? 
> 
> @irishmizzy/@megalong is an astoundingly patient sounding-board and deserves a dedication for putting up with/joining wholeheartedly in my flail! 
> 
> Marvel rightfully owns everything it should. The title is borrowed from Charlie Puth's 'One Call Away'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Musical inspiration, and baby-soothing support, provided by Billy Joel's 'River of Dreams' -- a true gem of a song!

i.

Hope’s body registers the unsure, wavering breaths before her mind fully does.

Her legs slowly come out of their angled splay, the stretch calming in spite of its burn. Even now, years later, decidedly in the _after_ , she can’t seem to sit on surfaces the way most people normally would, relaxed and unsuspecting. The taut pull of her muscles guards against complacency, leaves her ready to launch into action first and let actual tactics follow. 

(“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee,” Scott chants whenever he discovers her in the pose, playfully adopting a boxer’s stance and kissing her cheek. “Excellent.”)

She may not have to fight tonight, but someone still needs her. Sprinting down the hall, she pushes into a bedroom just as half-hearted hiccupping transitions into full-blown shrieking.

“Hey, Halley, hey. You’re okay, baby. You’re okay.” She lifts her daughter out of her crib and cuddles her close, swaying from side to side. 

Checking off all the suspects that usually lead to her mini-me melting down at two am lands her no closer to solving the mystery.

(Yes, Mr. ‘Lists For Life’ Lang has rubbed off on her _that_ much. She did marry the guy. What else was going to happen? Also, yes, these problems are remarkably similar to the catalysts for her own emotional implosions: lack of food, lack of sleep, environmental overload, and ridiculous people getting way too far into space that is very personal. The baby’s column extends even further, into mishaps that leave her wet, cold, hot, or otherwise uncomfortable.) 

Her heart breaks, again, like it has on countless occasions over the past month, at seeing this new person she already adores so much so unhappy. “What are we gonna do, huh?” Inspecting her daughter’s face intently, an idea strikes.

“Do you not like the bars?” For a little girl born in the midst of the (seldom controlled) chaos that their lives are, this aversion would simply be another quirk to add to everybody’s ever-expanding pile. Still rocking, she leans to murmur against the top of the small head tucked into her shoulder, “Daddy doesn’t like them either. Maybe Mr. Stark can work some design magic for you.” She cringes. “We’re definitely keeping that conversation a secret from Grandpa.”

\---

What could be five minutes or two hours or four years later, Hope and Halley’s situation hasn’t exactly improved; instead, it’s shifted into different, if still well-traveled, territory. The littlest Lang’s ‘homesick-Alice’ tears (they appear gigantic relative to the size of their host) have dried and her demeanor has returned to bright and bubbly. 

Hope never takes Halley (especially happy Halley) for granted, and she wouldn’t trade their time together for the world. That will never change. Ever. She’s reaching the point where her eyes blink shut on their own, though, so the status quo can’t stay. 

(Lying on the carpet with the baby, dimming the lights, and leaving her Glo-Worm tinkling softly between them _might_ not have been the greatest plan.)

“We’re gonna get up,” she narrates, scooping Halley into her arms, “and we’re gonna rethink our strategy.”

She ends up circling the room singing Billy Joel ( _“Walking in the middle of the, I go walking in the, in the middle of the – in the middle of the night, I go walking in my sleep -”_ ) repeatedly because her foggy brain shoves some random fact about infants being soothed by rhythm at her, and she doesn’t do poetry. She stops when the words no longer hold any meaning, glancing over and finding wide-awake brown eyes.

“Halley, sweetheart, you’ve got to go to sleep. I mean, honestly, Nutter Butter, coffee can only do so much for Mommy.”

“I knew you slipped up every once in a while! You had to!” 

At this triumphant whisper, she spins, Scott walks toward her, and they meet in the middle. 

“I’ve never said you can’t call her that,” she corrects him. She sees his protest taking shape; when he starts, she passes Halley to him, derailing any sound argument he might have been about to make, and leaving her open to finish. He lights up, propping the baby easily on his hip. “So much, Scott. You shouldn’t call her Nutter Butter _so much_. She has a name, and it came from us, not Nabisco. She doesn’t deserve to grow up thinking her parents named her after a cookie.” 

“We’re still declaring this a victory. Right, Halley?” Reaching to gently unfold a tiny fist, he presses their palms together. “High five.”

He looks at Hope, in search of approval for such quickly mended ways, but then he’s really looking at her, because his expression softens. “How long has she been awake?”

She swallows a yawn. “I’m fairly sure she's shattered her high score. How’d the X-Con men make out?” 

“We’re implementing monthly ‘Is This Appropriate Stakeout Conduct?’ seminars to address and eliminate the largest of the evening’s errors in the future, but nobody died and our deposit’s pending, so. Overall? Successfully.” 

“Do I want to know?”

“During billable hours, food’s been banned from the van unless it’s eaten as soon as it’s opened.” She snorts. “Yeah. I’ll tell you later,” he promises, waving her in the direction of the door. “You’re exhausted, and the Red Bull was flowing freely at La Cucaracha.”

Kissing Halley and Scott goodnight, Hope wanders out. Before she turns the corner, she hears Scott cheer, “Great job getting Mommy to cave, Nutter Butter, but you didn’t need to go for the win _that_ hard. She’s a nice lady, we like her. We’ll work on finesse.”


	2. ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Can I ask something?” Eyes focus next, fixing on her. [Hope] nods in encouragement, expecting the request for water that normally completes their routine. “Why are you wearing a costume if it’s not Halloween?”_ // Hope learns from her past, but gets a little more than she bargained for in the process. [Part II of Stress makes Mom!Hope use nicknames; Future-fic that takes place several years after all events in Ant-Man and The Wasp]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said there might be more and there actually is. That's definitely a first! Who knew follow-through could be so satisfying?!
> 
> A tremendously large thank you, once again, to @irishmizzy/@megalong! You're a star, darling, and without you, this would be two hundred words long and have far too many flaily exclamation points.
> 
> All media referred to herein belongs to its respective and rightful owner.

ii.

“—o wrong with the hospital.” Scott jabs his sizing control mid-sentence. More than half a decade of professional and personal partnership, and he never remembers to go bigger or smaller during lulls. ( _Put a period. Inhale. Hit the button_.) “They’re doctors. They undo damage if it’s needed and look at you like you’re crazy if it’s not, when you think that the huge bruise on your chest - ” 

Hope reaches to click open his helmet when the flashes of him being ninety and mostly deaf and yelling insanity in the street (a lot like at the moment, but with some very key differences) roll in. The change doesn’t deter his train of thought but, thankfully, hints that he should lower his volume. “- one of those teeth and hair tumors that were people, or could be.”

“Is that what happened last time?” The battle to keep her expression impassive is hard-fought, but surrender proves inevitable. “That’s why they were staring at you?!” 

She laughs hard and long enough that he retracts her helmet for her once they’re on the porch. “You were starting to fog.” He taps next to her eye to illustrate. She flinches, from the unexpected sting as well as the blood that she notices on his fingers when he yanks them back. “Sorry, you’ve got a…” He studies her. “You sure about that medical detour?”

“I’m fine, Scott, really.” The front door opens as she adds, “Currently, we have not one, not two, but seven styles of Band-Aid in our bathroom.” He concedes; Halley had him inventorying the stock yesterday. “Hey! Our uproar precedes us, as always.” Beaming, she steps into the house, wraps Cassie in a fierce hug. 

“Besides, she has class tomo--” she hesitates, shuffling through her mental calendar. _Saturday_ , Cassie mouths helpfully. “A paper to write?” This revision earns an enthused, yet subdued, round of applause. 

“Halley do alright for you?” Scott asks from behind them, and they shift to let him in. “Luis didn’t let her try that Fat Amy thing on the stairs again? Or cook her a chocolate chip waffle tower taller than she is?”

“See for yourselves,” Cassie invites, gesturing toward the living room. 

Halley’s curled on the carpet, surrounded by a zoo’s worth of stuffed animals, passed out; in the background, Anne Hathaway laments being more of a freak with a tiara than without one. “We played Hungry, Hungry Hippos into double digits, had chicken nuggets for dinner, and then made blondies in preparation for our discovery of a cinematic masterpiece.” 

Hope pulls Cassie close again. “What would we do without you? Thank God you’re at UCSF. Paxton can use his strings at Columbia for grad school.”

Deserting Scott and her stepdaughter as they commence the good-natured bickering that always concludes these evenings – _I’m not taking money for spending time with my sister, Dad. If she was a monster then, yeah, maybe, but she’s literally an angel, so. No! Don’t ‘Peanut’ me! I have a job and everything!_ He’s usually able to hide a twenty in her purse before she escapes – she kneels next to Halley, gathering her off the floor.

“Time for bed,” she murmurs. 

Before they go up, Halley resurfaces to thank Cassie profusely and ask if she’s coming over Sunday. “Not for the rest of the weekend, honey. I’ve got a ton of schoolwork.” Halley’s face crumples, Cassie’s not too far off from crying herself, and Scott watches the proceedings with delight. “Next week, you and I are golden.”

“We’ll finish Mia?” Halley asks optimistically. 

“Absolutely!” Cassie leans in. “Want to hear a secret?” The younger girl’s mouth falls open in shock right on cue. “There’s a part where someone puts M&Ms on a pizza. Maybe we can try that too!”

“Sounds fabulous to me!” Hope breaks in, taking charge; Halley would drag this out for hours if they allowed her to. “Goodnights all around then, right, Ms. Lang?”

Examining the clock on the oven, she gasps wonderingly, “It’s morning!”

“On that note, good morning, lady and gentleman. We’re going to sleep!” Hope announces.

Locking gazes with Scott across the kitchen, she stares in the direction of their progeny, silently informing him that they’re clearly destined for a wild ride later in life.

He shrugs helplessly.

\--- 

Halley’s already fading from her flash of a second wind as Hope climbs the stairs, has pretty much bid adieu to the waking world by the time she’s transferred her into pajamas and tucked the covers securely around her. “Sweet dreams,” she wishes, brushing Halley’s hair away and kissing her forehead.

A sluggish “Mommy?” hits her as she straightens. “Can I ask something?” Eyes focus next, fixing on her. She nods in encouragement, expecting the request for water that normally completes their routine. “Why are you wearing a costume if it’s not Halloween?” 

Her jaw drops and her mind’s wiped for a solid fifteen seconds. She’s accrued excuses over the years, keeping them on standby for this very discussion. “Daddy and I had a b-” _Business meeting_ dies after the first syllable, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth and tears welling up. 

When Hope had been in Halley’s (and Cassie’s) shoes, her parents had believed that the best way to guarantee her safety was to avoid the truth. She doesn’t blame them for their choice now, and she understands their motivation all the better because she too is responsible for the well-being of someone else, someone totally inexperienced with the world. Usually, though, knowledge turns out to be a much more powerful weapon than ignorance; not to mention, she doesn’t _want_ to lie to her daughter, no matter how young she is.

“Did my question make you sad, Mommy?”

Scrubbing at her face lightly to clear it, she smiles. “Nope. I’m _really_ glad you asked.” Picking a spot on the bed, she’s careful to avoid crushing kindergarten limbs as she sits.

“Can you teach me how to do that? Please?! You’re like a butterfly!”

“Of course! You know what?” Hope tugs Halley up and arranges her legs so that their two sets create mirror images, one a miniature of the other. “There.” Tilting forward, she whispers, “You ready to learn why I have a suit?” This gets the gears in Halley’s brain turning; she knows her daughter’s picturing Scott after landing new accounts, Tony after presenting an innovative pitch, Bruce after lecturing a group of industry experts. “Not like Daddy’s or Dr. Banner’s. Sometimes, suit means costume.”

“It’s a cinnamon,” comes the wise reply.

“Ms. Miller taught you about synonyms?” 

“Yep.”

“Wow.” Hope blows out an unsteady breath. God. One day, she’s going to accidentally blink, and her daughter will have gone from being five to being thirty. Moisture pools on her lashes. “Not the time, Hope, not the time,” she reprimands herself under her breath. Halley pats her knee comfortingly, waiting her out. “So. What do Daddy and I say you should do for people, whenever you can?”

The response emerges easily. “Help them.”

“Exactly! Well, one of my jobs is to help people who might be in some scary situations. My sui –” she amends, “ _costume_ protects me while I do that.” She brings Halley’s hand up to her chest-plate. “Feel how hard this is?” Next, she pops her helmet into place, knocks against its top and its honey-tinted viewing area. “This lets me see without letting the bad guys near my head, which is good, because all my memories of you and Daddy and our friends live in there.” Finally, saving the best feature for last, she releases her wings. “With these? I zip around _really_ fast.”

“Mommy, you fly?!” Halley practically screams, the words bouncing out of her in excited waves. “Are you a superhero, like Captain America? Except people call you The Butterfly because of your - !” she flaps her arms, points at the metal attached to Hope’s spine. 

Hope grins. “Almost, baby. Not The Butterfly, though. I’m The Wasp.”

\---

“Grape or raspberry jelly on your toast?” Silence. “Halley?” Hope prompts, with greater emphasis, assuming her daughter’s immersed somewhere within the pages of the illustrated insect reference that hasn’t left her possession once in the last two weeks. 

The dead air continues, and the revered book rests on the island, untouched, where Hope’s placed it with a plate and a full glass of juice. If appearances are correct, it would seem that being appropriately attired for an appointment with the always adventurous Morgan Stark this afternoon has slightly overshadowed bugs and breakfast.

“Scott?” she calls into his workshop on her way to verify this theory, “Halley hasn’t been in here today, has she?” 

“Not yet, no.” He plucks his goggles off. “We ran through potential outfits last night, and she’s supposed to show me which one won before she leaves.” He glances at her curiously. “Everything cool?”

“No worries.”

Apprehension does begin to creep in a little, however, when Halley’s room holds no sign of her. Still standing in the doorway, the mechanized whirring of an optimized, and presently redistributing, suit floats to Hope from the direction of the master bedroom.

“She wouldn’t! Why would she? I don’t see how it could, even if she tried –” but she’s already running, shouting Scott’s name as she moves.

The discovery that awaits her when she arrives at the end of the hallway provides the proof she needs. The chair onto which she’d tossed all of her crime-fighting accessories the night before, following another after-hours mission, now has nothing on its surface. 

Scott materializes then and, with his hands gently grasping her shoulders, takes a moment to assess the extent of her panic. “She Wasped herself! Fully!”

“Huh. That’s a hel-ck,” he catches and corrects, because impressionable ears might be tinier but, to him, that simply renders them deadlier, “of a lot more interesting than the scenario I was imagining.” 

“Not amusing, Scott.” He presses his lips together, forcing them into a stoic line and stopping them from sloping up at the corners. “If she does that _I’ll disappear because Mommy’s angry and I prefer her to be calm_ deal - the aquarium ringing any bells? – it’ll be ages before we find her.” 

“We’ll definitely find her. I’m more concerned she’ll stay fun-sized forever.” Hope can feel her face darken as ominously as she wants it to when he immediately backpedals, “Not funny, very not funny. Sorry! Look!” he redirects cheerfully, “She’s right here!” 

Hope squints at the spot he indicates and, sure enough, a miniscule Halley perches atop the clawed foot of the very seat at which she’s been glaring. “Halley!” Lifting her delicately and bending so they’re on relatively the same level, she asks, “Do you have all of Mommy’s suit on?” Halley’s specked shape paces Hope’s palm indecisively. “You’re not in trouble, Nutter Butter, I promise. But it’s important that you tell the truth. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Mommy,” she confirms, her voice tinny and breaking over the microphone. “The whole thing: the costume, the helmet, and the gloves.” 

“Good!” Scott shoots her a celebratory thumbs up; he’d installed automatic locking systems on their helmets a few years ago, finally fed up with so many close calls courtesy of extended dips in the bay. There’s no way their daughter’s brain will be scrambled, even though the leather covering her torso and hands sags, like someone using a garbage bag as a poncho during a sudden thunderstorm. “That’s really good! We’re gonna get regular Halley back now. How does that sound?” 

“I can’t grow to be a girl again because I didn’t eat any cakes to turn me tiny first,” she hiccups. 

“It’s not like Alice, Nutter Butter,” Hope assures. “There’s a button on your left glove. Which hand’s your left?” Halley raises the appropriate arm uncertainly. “Perfect! Do you see the yellow circle? Like a lemon Skittle?”

“No.” Hope can visualize every detail of her, biting her lip in concentration and trying not to cry. 

“That’s okay. Grab the black part and keep pulling until you do. The gloves belong to me, so they fit tiny-me, not tiny-you. Does that make sense?” 

“Uh huh.” 

Hope goes cross-eyed and takes at least four years off of her life by the time Halley encounters the necessary switch and performs a series of victorious twirls that would be even more adorable if her feet were on solid ground. “Once you push the button, you’ll -”

The suit restructures, and her muscles twinge pleasantly as they accommodate the heavier weight of her child instead of a Polly Pocket copy of her. (Halley's entire collection of those will be getting trashed as soon as possible.)

“- be back! Nutter Butter! You were fantastic!” Hope gushes, hugging her tightly and dancing around. 

“- it would shrink me," Halley hurries to explain. "I wanted to draw my Avenger suit like yours. I was really tired when I saw you in it, and I just remembered the colors and _the wings_. So, when I came to talk to you about what we’re going to do with Morgan later, and it was _right here_ , I put everything on. Then my finger slipped and you came and saved me. Even though you didn’t tell me not to, I know I shouldn’t have touched it, because there are grown-up lady things in there! I’m so sorry, Mommy.” 

“Halley, Nutter Butter, it was an accident, and you didn’t get hurt. That’s all I care about.”

“This has been quite a Lang family bonding experience,” Scott interjects, wrapping an arm around Hope and ruffling Halley’s hair. “In the future, though, I vote Disneyland! Just as many thrills, but so much less strain on the heart. Anybody want ice cream?”

(In the aftermath of that day, Hope and Halley trade lyrics to a certain Broadway hit so often, the song becomes a language they share: _I will fight the fight and win the war, for your love, for your praise, and I’ll love ya ‘til my dying days_. 

Very few people are granted access to the unabridged story of this particular tradition’s inception.)


	3. iii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Ready, Nutter Butter?” The trembling chin and wide eyes with which [Hope]'s confronted vehemently protest the impending extraction. “You’ll be okay. I promise.”_ // Hope handles the fallout of a non-catastrophic emergency in a very inventive manner. [Part III of Stress makes Mom!Hope use nicknames; Future-fic that takes place several years after all events in Ant-Man and The Wasp]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? Inspiration struck yet again! Enjoy!
> 
> Marvel still owns all properties that it rightfully should!
> 
> @irishmizzy/@megalong continues to be an all-around awesome partner in crime and has helped make every part of this story so much better than what it would have been. Gracias, darling!

iii.

“Halley, you all set? We’ve really gotta motor!” Scott yells out the deck door, down into the backyard. “You want an early shot at Star of the Week sign-ups, not a late one. If you’re last to open house, you get stuck with the week school starts. Nobody deserves homework while she’s busy getting the hang of first grade.”

The lady of the hour skids to a stop in front of him after a few seconds. “I need to talk to Mommy.” The tears flooding out of her undercut her poised request. “Can we call her in the car?”

“Sure! But you’re gonna have to give me the inside scoop on these -” he crouches, touches a wet spot on her cheek, wipes her face with the sleeve of his shirt, “- before we do.” His once-over unearthing no protruding bones or gaping, bloody wounds, he guesses, “You nervous about today?”

By way of an answer, she puts her hand forward; a tiny twig-like object that seems like it’s been submerged in ink sinks into the skin at its center. “Ah. Going straight to the source for this one. Smart!” he compliments, boosting her up onto the counter so his view of what they’re dealing with improves. “This is only the stinger, though. There’s no wasp to whisper to. With some masterful maneuvering, it’ll pop free for anybody.”

“You can’t!” She clutches her injured limb to her chest protectively.

“You won’t have to look, and I’ll be done before you even realize I’ve started,” he vows.

With an exasperated sigh that’s obviously inherited – the fact that he’s staring directly at his daughter leads him to conclude, pretty fast, that Hope hasn’t miraculously arrived home, but his mind still toys with him for that initial beat – she explains, “If I don’t keep it in, its powers will melt away without me getting them.”

“Honey, you know Mom became awesome by herself, right?” She nods; she understands. 

Halley’s under the impression that her mother could convince the sun to rise and set if she wanted to. This opinion will hold true even if Hope’s alter ego chooses to hang up her wings tomorrow, and its formation owes very little to her specialized skills; still, their beginnings have never actually been a topic of conversation. “She’s _learned_ all those neat moves, and trains really hard so they’re easy to use.” Her grip showing no sign of relaxing, he tries a more practical approach. “Doesn’t it hurt?” 

He watches while she weighs her options, her expression changing along with her potential reply. “Yeah. But maybe that just means it’s working? Peter’s spider turned his arm into a balloon.” 

“Peter’s…?” He clears his throat, starts again, much more calmly than the situation warrants. “Peter’s shown you his bite?”

“I liked your Spiderman story so much, I FaceTimed him right after.” She grins. “He had a picture saved on his phone! It was so gross!” 

Two thoughts occur to Scott in rapid succession: first – he definitely should have switched the names around in his nightly ‘Summer Superhero Saga’; next – he’s going to be in extremely hot water if Hope ever gets wind of this.

\---

Turning on her cell as she runs through the door of Halley’s school, Hope notices a new voicemail from Scott’s phone. 

She’s here far sooner than she’d counted on, Halley had been wearing her backpack stuffed with supplies at breakfast this morning, so its misplacement would have required an enormous amount of effort, and she had reminded him at least twenty times to check a calendar prior to scheduling conferences. 

All of which leaves her squarely between intrigued and terrified when she thumbs the icon to access the message. _Mommy, you’re the boss of the real wasps, right? Can you ask one of them to retire? I don’t know how to find her number, but her radio’s broken._

“Radio?” Hope wonders, consulting a nearby bulletin board to confirm which direction she should be heading and replaying Halley’s passionate speech in an attempt to wring comprehensible information from the words.

Scott, she figures, will add another adult perspective to hers and, together, they’ll shed some light on this new and confusing turn of their daughter’s imagination.

When she discovers him in the breezeway outside of Room 112 several minutes later, though, more pressing concerns occupy his attention. “Come on, Hales, we’ve reached the limit here.” Halley pleads an unintelligible appeal. “I know. I’m sorry, I really am, but we’ve gotta do this.” 

Hope has no idea if Halley’s meltdown possesses nuclear capabilities, what with not being looped in on the events that have brought her family to this point in their day. Taking her assessment of the moment she’s witnessing and extrapolating from there, however, she decides action probably constitutes her best bet.

“Hey, you two! What’d I miss?” At the sound of her voice, Halley skirts around Scott and launches, with impressive force, into Hope’s arms. 

“Daddy says we’re losing my stinger, even though nothing’s happened yet.” She uncurls her body enough to glare at him. “And the paperclip needle made everything feel worse!” Her daughter’s outright wailing in the middle of an open-air atrium now.

“Let me see?” Hope coaxes, rubbing Halley’s back reassuringly. Scott presents his tool to her over their daughter’s head with a guilty grimace. “Not you. Her!” she whispers, jaw dropping when she gets a good look at the device in question. “God.”

“I had to improvise. It’s perfectly safe,” he defends. “Prison teaches you to use your surroundings to your advantage.” 

“Scott?” She finishes inspecting Halley’s hand and, carrying out a quick search of her purse, raises tweezers from somewhere within its confines.

“Yeah?”

“Swear to me you won’t deal with raising our child by referring to knowledge from your incarceration ever again. Straight and narrow ingenuity only, please.” He agrees to these terms without hesitation.

Setting Halley on her feet, Hope knots her hair out of the way, all business. “Ready, Nutter Butter?” The trembling chin and wide eyes with which she’s confronted vehemently protest the impending extraction. “You’ll be okay. I promise.”

“But I won’t be super!” Halley sobs. “I know a bug didn’t give you your powers, but I’m littler, like Peter, and he said his was magic! I was going to practice a bunch more than I did during lacrosse, too, because saving people is more important than playing sports, and you need to be a lot stronger!”

“We all make our own magic, baby.” Hope pulls her into a tight hug. “Besides, you’re already one of the toughest people I know.”

\---

At one in the morning the following Wednesday, Hope and Scott linger by Halley’s bed, conversing as quietly as possible to avoid waking her.

“I guess always staying upfront with her went out the window,” Hope laments. “That lasted, what, a year?” She aims an annoyed smack at his arm. “You’re a terrible influence!”

“Hey, hey. I heard no lies, only distractions. How else were you supposed to pry that sucker loose?” He whistles lowly. “Girl’s got stamina.” 

Careful not to shift Halley’s head, she reaches for her pillow and removes the Ziploc containing the heavily-disinfected wasp stinger from underneath. “The tooth fairy’s a superhero who secretly belonged to Grandpa and Grandma’s research team? Surprise, there’s another Wasp?! Really?” 

“She’s small, she’s stealthy, she flies. You did nothing but connect the dots.” He digs a new Ziploc (with five dollars and a bumblebee keychain) out of his pocket, and deftly slides the package into the vacant space. “Genius, if you ask me!”

“I didn’t,” she laughs, “but thanks for the ringing endorsement.”


End file.
